


put out the flames

by finalizer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor: Ragnarok (2017) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Gen, Post-Ragnarok, these boys need to talk some stuff out and i'm here to indulge them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 12:23:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12507328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: Thor has his doubts, but he takes Loki back to Earth. Somehow, it gets easier from there.





	put out the flames

**Author's Note:**

> for the sake of the fic i'm disregarding what we already know about infinity war and the entire first after-credits scene from ragnarok; as well as the new avengers HQ, bc i need them in new york
> 
> for [becca](https://twitter.com/carefulren)

The New York skyline flickers with the sun reflecting off window panes and cell phone towers, chrome detailing and polished steel. It seems to be autumn — the trees dotting the park in the distance are mellow in color, dimming from their vibrant green. It’s windy, though Loki can’t feel it through the glass, nor can he feel the radiance of the sun hanging high up in the sky.

He stands there for so long he loses any innate feeling of time he has, his hands limp at his sides though some inexplicable feeling continuously, repeatedly urges him to lift his palms up and press them against the window. Not to break it, or even test it. He can’t explain the connection he feels with the city beyond.

He’s in a guest bedroom, expansive and grand like any quarters on Asgard, though clean cut and minimal like everything in Stark’s tower seems to be. It’s the earthly way of dripping opulence, he supposes, the sharper the edges and shinier the chrome, the more expensive everything looks. He’s most thankful for the solitude — they’d assessed he wasn’t that important of a threat any longer and given him security clearance to two floors in the building: his own, and the communal area. He’s still rattled by how easily they trusted him.

It’s disconcerting, how numb he finds himself feeling — like there’s a gap somewhere inside him, like he’s a tattered book with a handful of pages ripped out from the middle. It nags at him, it pulls and tugs him towards the glass like the streets and buildings are supposed to mean something more to him. He tries to think, so hard his temples ache. An idea, a flash of a memory hits him and then it’s gone again, and his brain hurts from chasing it down. He’s dizzy and confused, but he knows he can’t stop staring outside; he’ll blink and he’ll miss something — the key to whatever’s evading him, a glimpse of anything crucial that could snap him back to reality.

He shakes with the effort of not dropping to his knees.

There’s someone saying his name; it’s soft and garbled. His eyes flicker from one building to the next, scanning the windows and rooftops, and he can’t tell where it’s coming from.

“Loki.”

He flinches and whips his head to face Thor. Drowning in whatever sickening nostalgia he’s haunted by, he’d failed to hear the knock on the door, or the soft footsteps padding up to where he stands. He chides himself for not assessing the threat, for not being better prepared.

Though it’s just Thor, and Loki breathes easier. In and out, through his nose, lifts his chin and knows he looks more collected than he feels. He taps out a nonsensical pattern with his fingertips against his leg and turns back to the window to hide the bubbling anxiety Thor hasn’t noticed yet.

Thor doesn’t ask any questions, merely watches him in silence. He’s trying to figure out what Loki’s thinking, gears turning and whistles blowing with the effort, and Loki wipes everything from his face. His eyes, he knows, betray too much these days, and he focuses on a blinking light in the distance to conceal them from his brother.

“I don’t remember any of it,” Loki says finally. His voice doesn’t break but something else does, between his lungs, vulnerable and fragile. He considers, perhaps, that Thor may have the answers he doesn’t, and he doesn’t trust anyone else on this wretched planet the way he does Thor. “Did you know?”

Dense, as usual — though slowly improving — Thor asks, “Any of what?”

He seems to worry for Loki, disturbed by the emptiness behind his eyes.

“This,” Loki goes on before he can lose his nerve, “all of this. I’ve been here before and I don’t — I can’t remember anything.”

Thor observes him in silence. He understands Loki well enough to know there’s more on his mind, on the tip of his tongue waiting to be said. Loki appreciates the extra seconds he gets to gather the ache in his skull into words.

“What do they say, here, about it? About me? Alien invader? Otherworldly psychopath who snapped one day and tried to take an entire civilization under his wing through wreckage and bloodshed?”

“Don’t say it like you didn't enjoy it,” Thor says, humored, and Loki gapes. 

“I — ”

“I know it wasn’t you, in there,” Thor brings his hand up to tap at Loki’s forehead, and Loki’s surprised to find he doesn’t recoil. “I’ve seen plenty of horrors throughout the past few years. I’ve heard of another being out there, beyond the likes of anything — worse than anything I’ve ever considered possible. I reckon he could bring anybody to their knees, to do his bidding. Even you.”

Loki’s temper flares, but his words come out even. “You can’t begin to imagine what he’s capable of.”

“I won’t pretend to. If you want to tell me, I’ll listen. Otherwise, I’ll tuck it away to pester you another time. But you do court chaos, Loki, and it was quite the epicenter.”

“At this scale? Innocents? _This many_ innocents? You can’t truly think I’d go this far to climb atop a throne. I don’t — Thor, I don’t even want a throne. Especially not like that.”

Thor smiles, a weird, bright quirk of his lips, and seems to bounce back on the balls of his heels. He breaks eye contact and mirrors Loki’s earlier position, gazing out onto the expanse of the city.

“What?” Loki demands, curious.

“Nothing.”

“Thor.”

Thor shrugs. “You did seem entirely all too comfortable in father’s shoes. And — robes, and hair, and skin. Like you were made for it.”

Loki bristles. “I didn’t do much ruling. Ultimately, the crown wasn’t all I made it out to be. Prosperity came naturally to Asgard when you weren’t there to intervene and start unnecessary ruckus.”

Thor ignores the jab. “Would you have instilled the same isolationist ideals had you subjugated Earth? I think they’d continue to fight against each other regardless of your _penchant_ for fine arts and fine statues. They wouldn’t take as kindly to your dictatorship — they don’t even have a single ruler for you to embody, one that presides over everything. It’s a good thing you lost.”

Loki stares, brows knit and eyes wide. He looks so lost for a moment that Thor wants to pull him into a rough embrace and not let go until he’s alright again. But he knows better, that Loki would much rather not be touched, and self preservation prevails. 

It takes a few more seconds but Loki breaks into a broken, nervous laugh.

“Fucker,” he says fondly. 

“Ass,” Thor responds.

“It was boring without you,” Loki says honestly, out of the blue, and it’s Thor’s turn to look surprised. He does, until Loki tells him: “Oh, don't act surprised. Didn’t I always trail behind you like an irksome shadow, when you travelled off with your stupid friends to do stupid things? There’s only so much I could do to entertain myself before the palace grew too small and I hummed with the desire for more. _Which_ — ” he pauses, pokes a finger in Thor’s chest before he can interrupt, “ — for the record, isn’t me confessing to a raging lust for war. Running off with you lot was different from what I was used to. It was — fun.”

He says the word like it’s foreign. It strikes a chord in Thor’s chest. In all the time he’s known Loki, he’d never been as downcast, never been so hesitant or averse to innocent jokes. 

“You couldn’t stand me, could you?” Loki continues. “It was so unbefitting, wasn’t it, for the crown prince to pay his idiot little brother any mind when everyone expected you to slice things with a big sword and go hunting. No one liked me, did they? It was like I held you back.”

Thor turns back to his brother. “True and not true. Yes, you’re an idiot, and yes, no one liked you — ”

Loki rolls his eyes.

“ — well, other than me, I suppose,” Thor finishes sarcastically. “You’re very melodramatic, Loki, I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed. It gave you away, naturally — the nonsense with the monument, the performance, lounging around — father would never. So, somehow, in some way, I’m glad I was still able to see through you. But, of course people liked you. You were their prince too. You _are_ , still are. You came back for them, saved their lives. You got them off the planet.”

“It’s what you would have done,” Loki says, and the discomfort in his voice is palpable. He knows Thor’s itching to call him a hero; he’d rather punch through the glass and pitch himself onto the street below than wear such a title. 

“You aren’t all that evil, are you?”

Loki blinks. It’s a perverse sort of compliment, coming from Thor. He drums his fingers in a chaotic rhythm again to root himself in the present. There’s a bundle of raw honesty that wants to break loose and throw itself at Thor. He wants to look in his brother’s eyes and tell him, without an ounce of deceit this time around, that he did it all for him.

 

/

 

It started with stunned silence — cold and thrilling, tense in a way that made Loki’s stomach flip with giddy anticipation — then came the collective clatter of the assembled Avengers assuming battle stances, fists out and ready, and ended with some more silence, except now there were a minimum of six guns trained directly on Loki’s person. 

Thor didn’t exactly bother intervening until Barton got a bit too trigger happy and took a decisive step forward, making a show of clicking off his safety. Loki, amused, didn’t blink, and Barton stepped closer. He was aiming to intimidate and Loki was having a tough time keeping the humored smirk off his face.

It was somewhere around the time Barton had the barrel of his gun in between Loki’s eyes, digging into his skin, Loki meeting his eyes with a truly deranged, mocking grin — all teeth and malice — that Thor scoffed in pure exasperation and approached them, elbowed Loki with enough strength to make a grown man topple. Loki barely twitched.

“Alright, cut it out, Loki,” Thor said pointedly, for good measure, and Barton looked at him like he’d gone insane — _he_ was, after all, the one with the upper hand, not the other way around. He kept his hand steady on the trigger even when Loki cut the tension with a sudden wheeze of a laugh. His eyes lit up and the aura of danger seemed to seep from his very being like air escaping a balloon. It was as if Barton had blinked one time too many, and Loki turned back the clock, standing before him now looking years younger than ever, laughter lines around his eyes and a genuine smile to his voice. 

Loki glanced to Thor, completely unfazed by the cocked gun. “You know I have to play with them.”

Banner, standing some two feet further on Thor’s left, caught in the middle of the new arrivals and the armed Avengers, huffed a tired sigh. It earned him a glare or two from the group, Stark’s armored hand wavering for a lingering moment at the sound of it. Banner had, after all, been considered dead and gone. It was odd, to say the least, to see him appear at HQ as if he’d never even disappeared, with the pair of Earth’s most notorious so-called gods in tow. Stranger yet, on seemingly friendly terms with _both_ of them. And strangest of all, wearing Stark’s clothes.

Romanoff made the call first; her entire demeanor changed, now loose limbed and borderline bored. She was distressingly adept at reading people, and nothing about Loki made him out to be a threat. She holstered her gun and turned to Thor. “You said he was dead.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“We all thought he was dead,” Banner chimed in. “And you all thought I was dead. Guess no one stays that way around here.”

“Especially me,” Loki added, with a curious smile at Banner that had the rest of the team narrow-eyed and beyond confused. “No good ever comes from thinking I’m dead, I rarely am. Can you put that thing down?”

The last part, directed at Barton, was far more annoyed than concerned — he knew Barton was bluffing to start with, not to mention he’d never have the balls to fire with Thor present. They knew very well, all of them, that while Loki would slide blades in between Thor’s ribs, and Thor would throw Loki at walls and through windows, they were strangely and incomprehensibly protective of each other when bad came to worse.

Barton took a step back toward where he’d stood beside Romanoff, but the gun stayed up. He begrudgingly clicked the safety back on once she’d given him a properly withering glare.

“We’re not gonna talk about this?” It was Rogers, naturally, who needed the facts before he could break out the beer and pizza to celebrate his teammates’ return. “At all? It’s not weird? That he’s alive, and more importantly here, in New York? We’re all so glad you’re okay, Bruce, by the way,” he flashed an apologetic smile at Banner, who was actually deeply grateful for Loki’s presence to take the focus off his own miraculous reappearance. He’d dreaded the prospect of Stark’s jubilance, of the entire team crowding around him and asking far too many questions he didn’t know the answer to, demanding things that he didn’t want to talk about just yet.

Rogers set his righteous frown on Thor. “What did you bring him here for?”

Loki held his hands up. He, on the other hand, craved to be in the center of attention, would gladly climb to the rafters and rearrange the spotlight so it shined on him at all times. “I am standing right here, Captain. I can hear you. That’s awfully impolite.”

“Shut up,” Rogers said, and Loki did. “He’s a threat to the city. The planet, even, Thor, take your pick.”

“I swear to you, my brother is not here to pick another fight.”

Loki grinned, unable to stay quiet for long. He had to keep up appearances. He had to keep his nerves under control, and what better way to get under the Avengers’ skins, testing them until they snapped and responded with threats. It was a simple case of replacing anxiety with adrenaline. “If I pinky promise to be on my very best behavior will you fetch me that drink you owe me?”

A few things happened at once.

Barton unclipped the safety once more and Banner threw his hands up; naturally, he wasn’t fond of violent outs of relaxed situations. Romanoff and Rogers shared an incomprehensible look.

Stark powered down. “Yeah, why not. Drinks all around. Someone order the pizza.”

Thor clapped his hands together in delight.

There was a clatter as Stark dropped the armored arm onto the bar top. Loki eyed it like it was familiar: the sight of Stark behind the marble, handling an ornately fashioned bottle of something amber-colored and tempting. He blinked and the notion was gone.

“It’s a good thing it’s just us six, or there’d be too many introductions in order. It actually seems way too convenient. Barnes just left, didn't he? You just missed him, Rudolph. Go sit down and don’t touch anything or I’ll let Barton use you as a dartboard.”

 

/

 

“Why were you so sure I’d come to the rescue?” Loki asks instead. He watches Thor watch him. He looks lighter, somehow, despite the weight of everything that’d happened in the last weeks leaning heavily on his shoulders. The one eye he has left glimmers almost hopefully each time Loki speaks and it makes Loki nauseous, to see Thor’s devotion runs just as deep as his own. They’re both fools, it seems, loyal to each other no matter the blood spilled between them. “You left me, after all — on Sakaar. I quite openly attempted to stab you in the back again, and you left me twitching. To an outsider, I’m sure, it seemed more like a bitter farewell. You suggested we’d never see each other and I — I didn’t oppose the notion like I — ”

“Like you what?”

“Like I should have,” Loki snaps. “Answer the question.”

Thor looks bemused and steamrolls on down the route Loki explicitly doesn’t want explored. He’d spoken too soon, said too much about things he’d rather keep private — keep locked away until night rolled by and they woke him screaming. “You didn't want it to be goodbye forever?”

“No, Thor, you dim creature. I’ve told you, again and again, over the years, that it’s never been my intention to knock you on your ass. I never intended to hurt you — _too much_. I never once tried to kill you. No, don’t give me that look, you’re too powerful for me to kill and you know it. I’m incredibly out of my depth right now, trying to explain to you that I _care_ , so putting it shortly: I don’t want you dead, I don’t want you hurt, I’ve merely always wanted to be on the same level as you, to be recognized, perhaps admired to the degree you were. And, yes, I’m jealous by nature, and that took over. I took it too far, and I snapped countless times along the way; perhaps too many times to ever properly put together again. This is going awfully. But you’re — ”

Loki trails off and Thor looks to be caught between crying and laughing. It’s a very _Thor_ expression. 

“I’m what?”

“You’re really going to make me say it?” 

Thor frowns. “Yes, of course.”

Loki scowls, takes a sudden step forward and shoves Thor back with both hands against his chest. There’s no fire to it; it’s rather affectionate, really.

Thor stumbles back for the theatricality of it.

“ — you’re my brother, and I love you,” Loki grits out through his scowl. It’s murderous, and Thor’s overwhelmed at how endearing the situation has become. Loki naturally misinterprets the grin on Thor’s face, and seethes more intensely. “Very funny. Go on, laugh.”

Thor laughs.

Loki growls and turns to stomp away, and Thor allows himself another second of glee before reaching out and catching Loki’s wrist before he can stray too far and go light something on fire just to watch it burn.

“I’m not making fun of you,” Thor finds himself breathless when he speaks, and it has nothing to do with his fit of hysterics.

“You were laughing at me,” Loki points out, but stops attempting to pull away from Thor’s grasp. Annoyingly, Thor refuses to let go even then.

“Yes, Loki, I was. I was laughing. But it’s got nothing to do with making fun of you — that I’ll save for another day.”

Loki’s face falls and he tries to tear out of Thor’s grip again.

“ — look. Listen, Loki, please. I’m here, and you’re here. Neither has hit the other yet — too badly. This is substantial progress. I’m laughing like an idiot because I never thought this day would come again. Twice I thought you were dead, and twice I mourned — which, at least one of those times was your fault, done with premeditation, and we _will_ be discussing that later — and yet here you are, alive and whole. You’re saying what you want to say and I’m listening. That’s — we don't usually do that. We should have done that. I wonder how much could have been avoided.”

Loki’s eyes are glazed, not with unshed tears but more so a bone deep exhaustion. The walls and floors in the tower are meant to keep out noise, but Thor knows, on an instinctual level, that Loki wakes up panicked, even terrified. He’s never been much of a sleeper, even as a child, and with everything he’s been though — they’ve both been through — it’s no more than a clever guess to explain the reddened rims of his eyes.

“You’re my brother, and I love you,” Thor echoes, right when Loki is visibly on the verge of crumbling. He’s seen Loki cry, perhaps not recently, but the sight has always pained him; itched and prodded at him because he didn’t know what to do. He again considers pulling Loki into a hug to cement the words, but his muscles scream and warn against the movement.

He thinks he can’t initiate a hug without scaring Loki away.

“ — and I never doubted you would come to Asgard’s aid. It’s my fault that you were late, I suppose, I did leave you a bit indisposed, not that you didn’t deserve it.”

Loki’s lip tugs up like he wants to smile but doesn't want to give Thor the satisfaction. 

“You ran, when you found out father lied about everything. You acted out, and you hurt us all. You ended up hurting yourself most. And it was stupid of me to lash out at you instead of just listening. That’s on us — me and father; mother, even. If I’d been able to put it into words instead of blows, I’d have told you Asgard is your home, no matter how obscenely you tried to deny it; that we didn’t want you gone simply because you were _bluer_ than the rest of us. I saw how comfortable you looked as Odin, and I don’t think it had anything to do with the title you carried. All you ever wanted was for Asgard to accept you, and in that moment they did. The thing is — even when the guise came off, Loki, they still did. You fought for them, you came back to protect them — you, their prince — and they didn’t bat an eye, or give you dirty looks like you thought they would. You spent so long feeling bad for yourself you didn’t realize you were already forgiven.”

“Then they’re all idiots, the entire planet,” Loki interrupts.

“You came back for them. You could have started over somewhere else, even taken over the Grandmaster’s mantle and had a whole new planet to yourself, to do your bidding. Convinced as you were all of Asgard hated you, you had no reason to come back.”

Loki looks at Thor curiously. His fingers twitch like he wants to escape the openness. He fights back against the trembling feeling with a heap of sarcasm dribbled over his next words. “I suppose now you’re going to tell me why I returned. You would know, of course. You probably know me better than I know myself.”

“I like to think I know you rather well.”

Loki cocks his head, and asks offhandedly, “Would you have let the hammer strike me, had I not moved out of the way and revealed myself?”

Thor quirks his shoulder in a one armed shrug. “Probably.”

“Good. Then you’re not as weak as I thought. Go on, then, read my mind.”

Thor forgets himself, in that moment of calm. It’s like they’re back home, young and untroubled, exchanging barbs like brothers do. He reaches out and steadies a hand on each of Loki’s shoulders. It takes a few seconds to realize what he’s done; he panics and tries not to show it, and Loki tenses but doesn’t shake him off. They stay that way, in a limbo between comfortable and distressed.

“Asgard is your home, your people. Despite everything that’s happened, you know you belong there. And you came back to prove that to yourself.”

Loki narrows his eyes, rakes them over Thor’s face for a moment like he’s trying to spot a lie. Then he smirks, and it’s so _Loki_ that Thor’s heart melts. He lifts his hands to Thor’s wrists and plucks them off himself. 

“How touching. Perhaps there’s a shred of truth in there somewhere, but I’m not in the mood to have my past traumas psychoanalyzed. It’s been two days here, and Banner has already tried thrice. Even so, you’re wrong.”

Thor frowns, lines criss-crossing in the skin of his forehead, and his entire demeanor droops like that of an adorable animal being denied a treat.

Loki decides to take the leap. It’s now, he thinks, or never: either he adds to the pile of sentimental yammering, or he locks the truth deep within himself and never speaks of it again. But Thor had said, it was silence that carved and deepened the chasm between them.

“Thor, you daft idiot, I did it for you.”

 

/

 

Between six Avengers and one disgruntled god of mischief, they made quick work of two dozen pizzas. It made for a good distraction for when Thor’s or Banner’s stories grew too dismal. _Here, have another slice. Thanks! This totally gets my mind off the total destruction of my home world!_

The delivery kid hadn’t even bothered to look surprised, as if abundant deliveries to Stark’s humble abode were a typical pastime. Thor had volunteered to open the door, eager to catch up on interactions with local Midgardians, and cheerfully handed over the hefty tip that Stark had pulled from his wallet.

They were scattered around the common area on the communal floor, Barton and Romanoff sharing a bottle of vodka between them on one sofa, Thor and Rogers sitting on opposite ends of another. Stark and Banner were occupying matching armchairs on opposing sides of the room. For whatever reason, everyone seemed to be cautious of Banner since he’d first appeared, dancing around him like he was made of glass — more so than usual. They let him sit off to the side, gave him plentiful space to ease back into interpersonal relations.

Loki’s mood had, at some point, taken a drastic turn towards one more sullen and morose. He hated it, that his own mind betrayed him when left idle and isolated for too long, herding darker notions to snuff out the light.

He sat on the stairs not ten feet away, close enough to be sitting with them, far enough to be sitting alone. He’d downed the first glass of expensive whiskey Stark had handed him — casual, fingers brushing, like he hadn’t gotten thrown fifty stories the last time they’d interacted — and had eventually liberated the entire bottle from behind the counter without anyone’s explicit permission. It wasn’t like the alcohol affected him, but it burned nicely on its way down, and gave off that comfortable placebo feeling, tricking him into thinking he was numbing his thoughts. And there were plenty of those racing through his mind, knocking about all the neat stacks and clean lines he’d always kept arranged in his head. 

Barton laughed uproariously at something Banner said, and Loki glanced up at them.

They weren’t much of a team, outside of drinking games and occasional world saving — sitting apart and only speaking when spoken to. At least to an outsider, and that was really all Loki was. That, or it was his mere presence, menacing and lurking in the shadows, that had them all on edge. 

He’d been courteous enough to don a more mortal-looking getup, ultimately leaving very little reason to fear him. He supposed his very existence left a bad taste in their mouths — past ordeals and such, not that he remembered half of the awful things he’d done to them. No amount of glamours or alcohol would change that.

Stark, curse him, seemed to pick up on the scent of sorrows getting drowned in liquor. 

“Stop lurking over there like some boogeyman. There’s more pizza here.”

Everyone went quiet and Loki went uncomfortably still. All eyes were on him, and for once he wished they weren’t. He didn’t understand, for all his vast intelligence, why Stark insisted on acknowledging his presence, when the rest of the team were comfortably pretending he didn’t exist.

His words, paced and forcibly even, rang out amidst the silence. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Banner looked down at his pepperoni slice. It was one less pair of eyes boring holes into Loki’s chest; Banner was considerate that way.

Thor tried to look inviting and failed miserably — he was far more comfortable amidst his so-called friends than with his brother, and Loki didn’t blame him, but he didn’t exactly appreciate Thor’s attempts at cajoling him into socializing with people who hated him.

“No excuses,” Stark decided. “You got ahold of my good whiskey — when did you even take that? — and this is my preferred form of payback. And you’re too quiet, we need to keep an eye on you. I feel like you’re plotting. Is he plotting?”

He directed that last part at Thor, and Thor narrowed his eyes in response. Then came the infinitesimal shake of his head, urging Stark to leave his poor, estranged brother alone. It was likely this exchange that sparked up the dormant fire inside Loki, his immature, rebellious side kicking in, and he stood. He didn’t need Thor’s protection, certainly not his approval, and least of all did he want to be perceived as a rabid dog on a leash.

There was a single armchair unoccupied, between Rogers’ end of the second couch and Stark, and Loki walked silently towards it, sitting carefully as not to spill from the bottle he kept holding.

“The prodigal son returns! Alright, then,” Stark announced, tapping the edge of his seat with his open palm like a gavel, “tell us something — your side of the story. Or your side of a different story. How was Thor growing up? He seems like the jock type — did you even have schools where you’re from?”

He winced, like it was too soon to bring up Asgard.

Humans had weird moral compasses, Loki decided, and it was the first thing that humored him since the pizza was brought up.

Barton, the idiot, pointed towards Loki with an excited, “Oh, look, that got a smile of out him.”

Loki wasn’t above public dismemberment, but Barton was more than slightly drunk, and that could be forgiven. 

“Yes, there were schools.”

Stark bit into his pizza with a renewed interest. He chewed and waited, eyeing Loki like he expected a longer elaboration. They all watched him like he was a potential candidate for a friend, rather than an enemy they despised with every fiber of their beings. It was as if the recounting of recent events had shed a new light on Loki’s existence, and with Thor and Banner vouching for his change of heart, everyone was ready to forgive and forget. It was unnerving, to say the least.

“That’s it? Thor, you said he talks a lot. You said once, and I quote, when he starts, it’s hard to get him to stop.”

The bottle of whiskey between Loki’s fingers was seconds away from shattering in an explosion of sparkling glass, with how desperately he squeezed at it. He wanted out.

“Why are you all hellbent on talking about me like I’m not here; pointing at me like I’m a caged animal on display? I’ll leave, and you can speak your minds. Is that more amenable?”

“We apologize for Tony,” Romanoff said then, “he’s loud.”

And that was all she said on the matter. Loki had always liked her: quick, efficient, didn’t mince words. She’d snuck up on him and bested him at his own game, earning herself a spot on the list of the few humans he could tolerate.

Stark gave her a dirty look. “I am. But I also have an unfortunately unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and I’m sure there’s things about life in space that Thor forgot to mention. Or, instead — tell us about yourself: You got a wife? Kids? Girlfriend, boyfriend? Devastating, unrequited crush? We really know nothing about you, Reindeer Games, other than you got a hair trigger temper and an apparent predilection for whiskey.”

“And I’d prefer to keep it that way, actually,” Loki snapped. He wasn’t going to be polite. “Really, don’t take it personally, but I’m not in the mood for small talk, especially not with a gathering of strangers who’d attempt to kill me given a ten-second window and a pocket knife.”

Thor watched, wary, from his seat. He had a bottle of cheap beer cupped in his palms, and he worried at the label with a chipped fingernail. He used to twist at his hair when he was nervous, back when he had more of it.

Loki didn’t understand many things about Thor, and hated a great deal more. He’d seemed so adamant to protect him from Barton earlier in the evening, yet was now silently siding with the entirety of the Avengers as they turned Loki into yet another of the evening’s attractions. Perhaps he wanted Loki to get on friendly terms with his companions. _Fucking unlikely._

“I’ll retire for the night,” Loki said, blunt, and stood. “By your grace, of course, Mr. Stark, if you’ll kindly allow it. And I’m taking the bottle.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, nor did he look at Thor as he retreated past the bar, and into the nearest elevator. 

 

/

 

Thor stares at Loki, unblinking, and it’s terrifying to think he might not believe him. It’s no more than Loki deserves, of course: he’d crafted his whole life with lies, it’s unlikely people would believe him now if he told the truth. But Thor — Thor isn’t just anyone. Loki’s baring his soul; he may as well make Thor understand.

He curls his lip. “I’m not saying this to trick you into pitying me, don’t give me that look. Yes, that one right there, like you’re trying to decipher my ulterior motive. It’s taking an incredible toll on me, being this honest, and I’m going to need you to respect that and — at least _try_ to believe me.”

Thor nods solemnly, though his eyes betray the slightest hint of confusion, and Loki exhales.

“I’m gonna sit,” he announces, and doesn’t wait for Thor before he pads across the carpeted floor of the bedroom and drops down on the bed. He’s too tired to sit up straight, so he forgoes the attempt altogether and stretches out on his back, legs dangling off the side.

There’s a dip in the mattress as Thor takes that as a cue to join him. He perches near the edge, leans back against the headboard. It’s nice, Loki supposes, their slowly healing degree of trust. It’s almost like the good old days, like they can always count on the other being there.

He blinks and grimaces at the ceiling. It’s never going to be quite like the old times.

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” he says quietly, before Thor misconstrues the situation — gets some impulsive idea, perhaps rolls over to _cuddle_. “I’ve always had my own agenda. Like you said, we’re our own people. I have different — interests, plans, aspirations — you have yours. So, I — ” Loki stumbles on his words, and Thor’s shock is palpable in the air. There’s likely a _silver-tongue_ joke just waiting to be cracked. “ — what I’m saying is, a lot of what I did was simply what I wanted to do; like self-preservation, but more grandiose. I trailed along your path when we were children up until it didn’t suit me, then I made a mess, and then you reached out to me and I walked by your side again, ’til I strayed and made another mess. And as we tried to escape from Sakaar, I made a miscalculation, and another mess.”

“Were you actually going to give me up for the bounty?”

Loki hums to himself. “I don’t know. I think so, yes. But I’d collect the money, and help you out of there later, once my position was secure. Sure, we would've lost time, but I’d be far richer.”

“And Hela would have triumphed.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that you, how to put it nicely, _immobilized_ me. For the good of Asgard.”

Thor’s smirk is audible in his tone. “Don’t get all smart on me now, or I’ll zap you again.”

Loki stills, instinctively glancing down at his shirt like the damn piece of tech is still somehow, impossibly attached to him. He curses himself for the needless paranoia — he’d changed out of his leathers shortly before pizza the previous night. 

Thor snorts in amusement. It’s incredibly unbecoming of Asgard’s king, and Loki only barely refrains himself from saying that out loud. They’ll go back to casual barbs and jokes soon enough, but not just yet.

“Somewhere between the eight and ninth minute of getting electrocuted on the floor, I had what you’d call an epiphany. Well, truthfully, I’d given the matter thought before, but it wasn’t until then that I realized if I took it too far, I might lose you forever.”

With the weight of his words registering in his own mind, Loki goes very still, very fast. His hands, draped over his abdomen, turn white at the knuckles with the pressure of clenching them into fists.

Thor allows him a moment to clear his head. He knows Loki is crossing personal boundaries, saying things he normally wouldn’t dream of disclosing even after a night at the pub.

“By the Bifrost, a long time ago, do you remember what I told you? No, of course you wouldn’t. Well, I do — the memory of those few minutes really etched itself into my brain; I suppose that happens when you try and fail to take your own life — you overthink what went wrong.”

“Loki — ” Thor starts, and it’s both a warning and a plea.

“Sorry, got off track,” Loki drawls on, like he hadn’t said anything that warranted concern or undue attention. “I told you I wanted nothing more than to be your equal. I went about it wrong, trying to wipe out the Jotuns. I went about a lot of things wrong. Point being, I think I just wanted — _craved_ — to live up to being worthy of being your brother; so you wouldn’t have to be ashamed of me, or embarrassed of the weaknesses I possessed and you did not. Well, guess what — I made a mess. And you egged me on. It was a naive, senseless attempt at making you proud somewhere amidst the throes of my breakdown.”

Thor gives the admission time to sink in. Long enough to roll the words over in his head, committing them to memory in case Loki decides to run and never speak to him again; but not too much for Loki to overthink the silence and confuse himself into regretting ever speaking in the first place.

“I’ve always been proud of you. Proud to be your brother. You never did have the raw strength to toss live boars far distances, but then again, you never bothered to conform to Asgard’s primitive forms of entertainment. Which is what made you different, what impressed me.”

“It didn't impress you.”

“It does now.”

Loki cocks his head up, propping himself up on his elbows. He looks at Thor, furious.

“Yes, but it didn’t _then_. And that’s what — fucked me up.”

Thor pauses. “I was trying to impress everyone too, Loki. Perhaps that’s why I — why I thought shutting you out would give me an advantage.”

“The people always loved you more,” Loki spits.

“I conformed. You didn’t. Look at us now — you call me the bumbling oaf, and I don’t object, because I grew up hitting things for fun. And you — just think: your intelligence is unparalleled, your wit, your power. You overthrew Odin. Not that I support what you did, but you managed to do it without breaking a sweat. Your magic is as impressive as it is terrifying.”

Loki looks almost honored for a split second, before tilting his head in a condescending snarl. “Don’t patronize me.”

“ _Patronize_ — ?” 

“The trick with the thunder? You nearly brought down the entire palace. I’ve tried my whole life, and I’ll likely keep trying because I’m doomed to be stubborn and jealous until the end of days, but I’ll never possess your sheer _godlike_ abilities.”

“Stop pitying yourself: false modesty doesn’t suit you, brother. We both know, deep down, that your ego knows no bounds.”

Loki sits up. “Ego, certainly, but that doesn’t change the fact I can’t do what you can.”

“You are beyond incredible at what _you_ excel in. Imagine something, Loki, for a moment: me, trying to do your magic. I couldn’t hover a feather. It’s a two way street. You don’t have to _be_ me to be my equal. Be yourself, and you already are.”

Loki’s lips are pursed. He wants to fight back with more hurled accusations, but he’s afraid of what might come out instead. He’s not even sure he could manage a single word without his voice breaking, or cutting off completely with an onslaught of tears.

He’d numbed himself, while he played the monarch. He hadn’t bothered with the past at all.

It comes back now, too much too fast, and he doesn’t think he can take it.

Thor, perfectly adept at noticing when Loki’s about to cry, makes to stand.

“I should go — ”

Time slows down and Loki’s vision goes white with sudden fury. He swats at his face like he wants to force the tears back into his eye sockets. He shoots up, stalks over to where Thor stands, halfway across the room, and goes in for another shove. This time, Thor stands his ground, doesn’t budge as Loki hits him. 

“ _Of course you’re going to run away again when I’m too much_.”

Again and again, weak blows at his chest, at the most vulnerable spots he can attack without actually hurting Thor. And Thor lets him exhaust himself before grabbing at his wrists and stopping him.

“I’m sorry.”

Loki goes still.

“I’m sorry, Loki, for everything.”

The wrists within Thor’s grasp tremble, with exhaustion and an unhealthy degree of repressed emotions, and Loki bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The tears don’t come. He folds, and lets Thor embrace him. He surrenders completely, leans against Thor’s chest and loses himself in the words ringing over and over in his head. It was all he ever wanted to hear, really.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, unmoving.

“Me too,” he mutters finally, muffled. “I’m sorry, too.”

Thor shifts against him and Loki jolts out of the lulling warmth of the hazy trance. He sticks his arms out and pushes away, steps back until he’s distanced himself just the right amount.

He sniffles indignantly. “If you speak to anyone about this, Thor, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Thor grins, and it finally reaches his eyes. “I don’t doubt that.”

The silence, for once, is comfortable. Thor lets it linger for a moment before turning to go. He pulls the door open and makes to leave, Loki inching closer to walk him out.

“It suits you, you know,” he says, and Thor turns and holds the door before it shuts in his face, “the eyepatch. Makes you look dangerous, very intimidating. Finally, you could sit on the throne of Asgard properly; if it wasn't blown to shit.”

Thor mirrors Loki’s smile, and lets the door slip closed.

**Author's Note:**

> and they lived happily ever after... ragnarok was 10/10 would definitely watch a bonus four hours of thor and loki bantering like [clenches fist] _brothers_
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